Make Me A Machine
by TheShoelessOne
Summary: Yet another POV Ziggy story by TheShoelessOne. A short, angsty fic on what I think ran through Ziggy's mind after his suicide and his resurrection.


Death.   
  
The pain of the world slipping away from around me. Nothing more I cared about. Nothing more I longed for. All was absolute. All was finished. Happiness. Gratification. There was nothing more. There was nothing less. Those above and those below were no longer unreachable. They were mine and I was theirs, together intertwined throughout the cosmos and infinite time and space. Never would we part, but never were we whole. Only death and eternal life stood before me now. And the pain and suddenness of death was slowly fading. Darkness swallowed my being. I no longer existed.   
  
I was.   
  
I am.   
  
I will be.   
  
There was no more.   
  
Like whispers, the names of those from my past enveloped me like the embrace of a lover. I heard them, and was one with them. I felt them, I heard them. But there was no sight. I could not see in this world of eternal darkness. It was as if I was among them, all but in vision.  
  
There was no time. No past, no future. Just now. Forever in an instant, eternity in a moment, every moment. All time was one time, and yet it was an absence of time. No time. No sight. Nothing but whispers in the darkness.  
  
Then there was the whisper of a name and a voice I did not know. It was almost silent, but as loud as a pealing bell. It echoed for eternity, but was lost in an instant.  
  
MOMO.  
  
The name came.  
  
The name was gone.   
  
There was nothing more.  
  
But in the darkness that had lasted for all of time, a light shone like no other light. It shone with the glory of the heavens, but with the promise of pain and reward of hurt. In this world of darkness, I knew not if the light was of good or ill. But, as if not of my own will, the light moved for me. As it inched closer with unnatural speed, I knew I had to break from its grasp. It wished me fell deeds, this I was sure. But try as I might, my strength had left me when I had left the husk that had been my body. The light engulfed me just as the darkness had.   
  
Just as before, I could not see. Just as before, I heard whispers around me. Just as before, I could feel the fingers of those touching my body. But there was more this time. I felt my chest rise and fall. I felt my eyes burning behind their eyelids. I felt cold metal against my flesh. As I sat, feeling things I thought I had left behind with the pain of my life, something astonishing registered in my brain.  
  
I was seeing.  
  
Pain filled my tear-lined eyes as I forced them to open. Light. Bright, streaming, searing, painful light. Slowly, as if I had forgotten how, I blinked. The tears that had been caused by the pain I felt coursed down my face. My body was cold, and I felt the hot tears move every centimeter down my face until they fell out of existence. I was stiff, as if frozen. I clenched the fist of my right arm, feeling the tense muscles strain under the pressure, as if I had not used them in years. I tried the other arm.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
It was as if my arm had entirely ceased function. Or... maybe I had been lost in the darkness so long, I had forgotten. Pain shot through my entire body at the thought to the dark place I had been pulled from so violently. I had died. No, I had killed myself. I had felt the hot lead of my own bullet course through my head. I should have died.   
  
I should have died.  
  
Why wasn't I dead?  
  
Why didn't I die?  
  
I took a life. His life. Memories flooded over me, crushing my body beneath their immense pressure. He deserved life. I deserved death for taking hat away from him. Then, why was I not dead? I felt myself involuntarily creating tears in my eyes again. I deserved death. I warranted death. Why then had it taken him and cheated me so malevolently?  
  
I lay for what seemed to me like days on a cold, metal sheet of some sort. Though time must have passed faster than I believed it to have passed, it still seemed far too long. Every once and a while, I would see the blurred outline of a person in a long white coat. The person was different every time, and they never looked to me. I closed my eyes, shielding them from the still blinding light, and it seemed that as soon as I did, I slept. The sleep was fitful, but dreamless. When I awoke, I felt a warm hand on my cheek. I opened my eyes slowly, groggily. The picture I saw was still blurred, and I was unable to make out details, but what looked like a young woman in a lab coat was sitting next to me under the blinding light. She looked like the angel that should have banished me to Hell for what I had done. As soon as I opened my eyes, I heard the muffled sound of a gasp, and she jumped from her seat. As she ran, muffled though they were, I heard her screaming for a doctor.  
  
I learned later that I had unwittingly signed a paper donating my body to science if I were to die an early death. I did not know at the time that signing it would entitle me to be revived from death as a half-human, half-machine. A cyborg. My left arm had received tissue damage as my body lay frozen for two years, and so did the tissue in my legs. I figured that this had been the reason I could not move either of the three appendages.   
  
I was no longer a human, but neither was I completely a machine. If I was neither, then what was I? "A battle cyborg," they told me as they surgically grafted a blade to my left arm, which was now made completely of metal. Those damn doctors thought of everything. They thought of everything that would keep me from rectifying my mistake of killing my only stepson. They "equipped" me with technology to keep me from killing myself or abandoning the mission. They added synthetic parts where my natural parts failed to function. I came into a mentality as I lay on the cold metal bed.  
  
If I were a machine, and only a machine, I would no longer exist as a human, or as a soul. Machines didn't have souls. If I were to make myself a complete machine... would I be free?   
  
Free of the guilt.  
  
Free of the pain.  
  
Free of life.  
  
Make me artificial, then. Make me as you wish. Take anything you need, replace it with scrap. I don't deserve life after all I have done and all I have destroyed. Make me a machine.  
  
And at last I will die. 


End file.
